Artax's Death Scene
by Flora Bora
Summary: They're both children of the 80s.


"Rick?"

He opens his eyes to wakefulness and says goodbye to sleep and breathes into her neck, inhaling her once again and memorizing her once more. Her scent always makes him feel manly and strong. He grips that feeling tightly in the mental vice of his arms. "Yeah?"

She smiles at his wakeful presence and moves in his arms, her bare back shifting closer to his chest. "What was your favorite movie? When you were a kid?"

He chuckles into the back of her neck. Andrea never seizes to surprise him with her unrelenting curiosity. She has such a strong thirst for knowledge. And when she tries to dig deep into his mind he always smiles warmly. Always. Because she always finds something there. She's a good digger, this one. "Why?"

"Just curious."

"Why?" he repeats. He needs to know, after all. He needs to know everything that pops into that pretty little bratty head of hers. He needs to do love right this time.

"I don't know," she tells him honestly, growing tired. Thinking too much. Absentmindedly. Andrea is a lazy mess physically (doesn't cook, doesn't clean, doesn't wash anything), but her brain is like a computer. It just never stops. "Remember _Full House_?"

He laughs at the memory of the old, stupid sitcom and grips her tighter in his arms, his skin rough against her soft curves. "Hated that shit," he confesses to her and then groans. "Shit, that song's gonna be stuck in my head for days now."

She laughs, too. "I know. Me too. I hated those twins. Creeped me out. Ugh. Had a crush on Uncle Jesse, though."

He once again chuckles at her candor. Where is she going with this conversation? He doesn't know. He never knows where Andrea's gonna take him. He just sits tight and waits.

"There's this one episode, though," she continues randomly. Andrea doesn't think. She just talks. She verbalizes everything that pops in her head even when she's alone. He knows. He's caught her talking to herself too many times. "One of the early ones. Stephanie was still a kid and she wanted to watch _The Wizard of Oz_. They made such a big deal out of that, but I never got it. Never liked that movie. It was like it was written by someone on crack."

He laughs into her skin, kissing the bones protruding from the back of her neck. "You were probably more _The Goonies_ type."

She turns to him slightly. Curious. Digging into him again and too easily. Finding the old skeletons of himself that he tried to bury deeply. No one's ever dug them out. Not even his new self. But she reaches right in and finds them. Finds him.

"_The Goonies_, Rick?"

"Best movie ever," he confesses to her. Realizing he's never confessed this to anyone. God, he suddenly feels like such a nerd. But that feeling leaves him feeling right. So right that he purposely spills his heart into hers even more. "And _ET_. And the first _Star Wars_, too. Best movies ever."

She laughs in his arms, poking at his bare chest with a bony finger. "You're such a boy. _The Goonies_? Jesus. _Star Wars_? You've been spending too much time with Glenn."

He laughs once more against her and studies her face. _The Goonies_? No, he doesn't think so. And she's too young and too much of an old soul to be the _Pretty In Pink_ type. When he looks into her eyes and they shift from green to blue he knows right away.

Two can play at this prodding game.

"Let me guess," he whispers into her lips. "_Neverending Story_?"

Her eyes widen instantly like he's stabbed her deeply, but it's jocose and playful. He's the archeologist now and it feels too right to dig deep into her.

"Shut up!" She slaps his arm hard and his fingers dig into her blonde curls as he smiles and tries to keep her close. How he loves those curls. They curve just right even without shampoo or conditioner.

He grabs her arms and pulls her closer, touching his nose to hers knowingly. "I bet you cried when that horse died."

"That was sad!" she exclaims defensively and he laughs again. He's all laughs when they get like this. All happiness. Happiness finally finds him when the world ends. Funny and fucked up all in a little package that always shows up when she smiles. "Stop, Rick!"

"Sorry."

"It's not funny. I _loved_ that horse," Andrea moans into his chest. Looking properly traumatized. Oh God, that scene always made her cry like a baby. "What was his name again?"

"Hell, I can't even remember," he confesses.

"Atreyu?" she tries, looking into his face for an answer.

He runs a hand down her back and it settles on the bones of her hips. "No, that was the kid."

"Which kid?"

"The one in the story," Rick tells her. "The kid reading it was... Sebastian, or something?"

She scrunches her nose at the distant memory. Oh, God, it's been 30 years. She's 30. Fuck, that knowledge hurts. "Oh, yeah."

"I can't remember the horse's name," Rick tells her and the words are easy and familiar. Like they're talking about the weather. "Did he have a name?"

"I'm pretty sure he did," Andrea tells him. "I can't remember, though. That's so sad."

"Why, brat?"

"Because that movie should be remembered. It was such a good movie."

"It was," he agrees with a smile.

She turns to him again and raises her eyebrows. "Oh, so you love it now."

He laughs again. "I never said I didn't."

"You laughed at the horse!"

"No, I laughed at you, dumbass."

She clicks her tongue and slaps his arm again. "Asshole!"

He nips at her neck in retaliation. "Brat."

She smiles and keeps him close. His scruffy cheeks prickle at her skin but she drinks it in. Drinks everything he's willing to offer her. Always. "Can we find it?" she asks him sweetly like she needs his permission. Makes him love her even more. "God, I wanna watch that movie again. I wanna watch it with Carl. You think he'd like it? Remember those statues that shot lasers? And that giant dog? What was that?"

He laughs again and quotes her. "Someone on crack, that's for sure."

He kisses her, framing her face with his hands. He doesn't know what he loves most, his love of her or her love of Carl. Carl loves her, too. He's gonna marry this girl some day. He doesn't know if marriage is still a thing, but he's going to marry her nonetheless.

"He'd love it."

"I hope so," she whispers at him. "God, I wish we could watch it right now. Find it and find a TV or something. God, that's all I want right now."

"Yeah? You're that easy to please?" he tells her as he runs a hand down her stomach and presses her impossibly closer. Her face nods against his in reply. "I'll find it for you, brat. I promise."

But he never does. Months later he dies in her arms and takes to his grave the memory of her eyes, their ever changing colors. The feel of her curls tangled in his fingers. Her brattiness and runny mouth. He dies and takes everything that's her with him. Dies and takes her soul.

Her tears spill into his face and she tries to tell herself she needs to be strong and take care of little Carl. She's the only parent he has now. She needs to be strong. She needs to lead the group now. She's never been a good leader but he leaves them to her now and she has to step up. And she does. Daryl right there helping her.

But as she buries Rick into the ground she buries her heart, too. Its broken pieces even more shattered than her little self in 1984, when all she knew of grief was the death of a fictional horse.


End file.
